The Scrivener's Tale

by Fiona McIntosh

  She nodded. He despised himself for making his lie sound so sensible, when he knew the true culprit.

  ‘Cassien, here lies my chancellor. A very good man. I can’t even spare the time to grieve for him because lots of other very good men and women, and some children, have also died equally mysteriously. And he is the second chancellor I have lost in a short period, and both have left me under mysterious circumstances. Something is happening here. I don’t understand it and I don’t know what to do. I’m under siege. My counsel is dead, my sister suddenly hates me, I have a king under my roof — to whom we’re not giving proper respect — and an attempt was made on my life yesterday morning. Can you appreciate how unravelled I am feeling?’

  He nodded.

  ‘And you’re here, calm as cake, suggesting this is all an aberration, when you yourself are perhaps the strangest of the bizarre happenings. You arrive out of nowhere, save my life, take charge, speak about demons and have knowledge I need yet you won’t share because you belong to a secret society.’ Her voice had risen but not become louder.

  ‘My queen, I come to you with only your safety and the preservation of the Crown as my single duty. I will not let you down, but you have to listen to me above any other, and perhaps even against your instincts. Burrage is dead. I am sorry for you, but let him go. Let the dead go and do as I say, for a greater threat is coming.’

  ‘I do trust you, Cassien. Curiously, you seem to be the only bit of sanity I can cling to.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, glancing over at the desk. ‘May I?’

  She nodded. Cassien read out a list that Burrage had obviously been swiftly scrawling before he died. The chancellor must have been working into the early morning on this, for Cassien knew his roaming had only begun in the hours before dawn. Burrage had just finished presumably and had gone out onto the balcony. He was convinced now that only those outside of Stoneheart’s walls at the time of his roaming were affected by it.

  The queen joined him, sighing as she read her chancellor’s notes.

  ‘Burrage worked tirelessly for the Crown. I don’t think I recall ever asking him about his family or his early life. How selfish of me. And how sad that his last thought was “visit by Merchant Tentrell with Princess Darcelle and King Tamas at fifth bell”,’ she read. ‘It doesn’t do him justice that he was concerned with such minutiae while his life was in the balance.’ She sounded bereft.

  Cassien scanned the list again and focused the queen. ‘This is a checklist he was making for today’s picnic, I gather?’

  She shrugged. ‘Looks like it. He dropped dead while working. He was so loyal.’

  ‘Who is Tentrell?’ he said, pointing again to the final entry.

  ‘A wealthy merchant from Robissun Marth, as I understand. He has a wedding gift to present. Why? Is it important?’

  He gave a small shake of his head. Burrage had died because of Cassien; there was no reason to be looking for clues here. And still something nagged. ‘Not important. However, everything on his list relates to the picnic arrangements, except this last entry. Presumably lots of people will be presented to them. Why is this man special?’

  She gave a small frowning shake of her head. ‘It’s not that he is so special. More that his gift is extraordinarily generous. Darcelle would cut off a limb to own it.’

  ‘So Tentrell’s personal presentation is considered important,’ he qualified.

  Florentyna nodded. ‘It was important enough for Burrage to write it down. Which meant the request came through him. Burrage is … was,’ she corrected in a voice laced with sadness, ‘always thorough. Always worried he wouldn’t live up to how well Chancellor Reynard took care of us all.’ She turned to look at the body again, noting his ink-stained fingers, which she held, as if in farewell.

  Cassien could see her mind was turning to maudlin thoughts. ‘Let’s get Burrage moved to the chapel, majesty. You’ll feel better to know he’s in Shar’s house.’

  Nevertheless, having left Burrage to the servants, Cassien still had a nagging feeling that he had missed something.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Darcelle was still fuming in the king’s courtyard, when she heard someone clear his throat.

  ‘Your highness, please forgive my interruption.’

  She leapt up, startled. ‘Who let you in?’

  The man before her didn’t move, clearly not wanting to frighten her. ‘The guards permitted me, your highness, and I was told to come by at fifth bell to meet with the king.’

  Darcelle looked at him confused. ‘Fifth bell?’ she repeated. ‘The king said nothing to me — in fact I got the impression he was expecting no-one. You absolutely should not be here. I am calling a guard.’

  ‘Please wait, Princess Darcelle. Either King Tamas might have forgotten, or perhaps was never told of the arrangement.’

  ‘Arrangement?’

  ‘I have royal permission,’ he said, shaking a small roll of parchment at her. ‘It’s signed by Chancellor Burrage, delivered to me early last evening. I … I’m here to see King Tamas. It’s about a jewel for you,’ the man said hastily, bowing and backing away. ‘Please forgive me. I shall leave. I want no trouble.’

  ‘Wait!’ Darcelle commanded. ‘A jewel, you say?’

  ‘For King Tamas,’ the man repeated. ‘I was told you would be here as well. I was to expect both of you so I’m sure it’s not wrong of me to mention the jewel …’ His voice trailed off.

  ‘Your name?’ she demanded, but Darcelle’s voice was far less shrill now. She was intrigued. Tamas had failed to mention the visitor, had explicitly said she’d be left in peace. Perhaps this was meant to be a surprise for her from her betrothed. And Burrage … odd that he hadn’t arranged for this man to present his gift to them at the picnic. Even odder that he be given access to the royal rooms. However, she couldn’t pass up the chance of a jewel from her beloved.

  ‘I am Merchant Tentrell.’

  She frowned, only now registering how good-looking he was, with that dark hair and smoky, dark blue eyes that seemed to hold amusement. He carried himself tall and was dressed in fine clothes, she could see. ‘Your name is familiar. You’re Morgravian?’

  ‘Oh, through and through, highness,’ he said, flashing a bright smile, although he lowered his eyes once more. ‘I’m not seen often in Pearlis. I do all my trading in the exotic ports … cities like Percheron.’

  ‘Oh yes, I’m sure I’ve heard of you now. Merchant Tentrell … of Robissun Marth, is that right?’

  ‘It is. But we have not met, surely?’

  ‘No, your reputation precedes you, sir,’ she giggled, choosing to flirt now with the handsome merchant. Why she held an image of an older, paunchier man, she couldn’t recall. ‘Percheron. My sister has a horse from there.’

  ‘Does she?’

  ‘A gift from its zar. The most magnificent Pearl mare. She’s beautiful. I often wish she were mine. Florentyna has been generous to lend Pearl — as she was predictably named — to King Tamas for his stay. He loves to ride, you see.’ Tentrell smiled broadly and she noted his white, even teeth. A truly handsome man. Darcelle sighed. ‘It has been a long-held dream of mine to visit the wondrous city of Percheron.’

  ‘Perfect, your highness, because the jewel I bring for King Tamas is called the Star of Percheron.’

  She sucked in a breath. ‘You jest, Master Tentrell.’

  ‘Not at all, your highness. But forgive me, I thought you knew. Where is the king, may I ask?’

  ‘He is with my sister. An unexpected meeting.’

  ‘Well, as I say, perhaps he’s forgotten. Or maybe he hasn’t been told of our meeting. Chancellor Burrage was to arrange it. Oh dear, I feel embarrassed now for it must feel like trespass.’

  ‘No, no, Master Tentrell. Please don’t feel badly,’ she said. ‘The truth is Master Burrage is …’ She hesitated. He looked at her in enquiry and she couldn’t help herself but admit that this Tentrell was disarmingly attractive; she felt vaguely guilty fo
r thinking it on the brink of her engagement. He watched her with intensity, almost hungrily, which was confusing because something in the back of her mind suggested that this man’s tastes did not run to women; the rumours must have been wrong. Probably jealously. Perhaps like all men he was helpless in the face of her beauty. ‘Please, join me,’ she said, gesturing for him to walk deeper into the garden. ‘I was enjoying this long-awaited spring sunshine while the king is absent.’

  He obliged but kept his distance. ‘Your highness, you were going to say something …?’ he queried.

  ‘Yes … yes, that’s right,’ she said. ‘The truth is, Chancellor Burrage died through the night, and that’s likely why I hadn’t been told of your meeting. I don’t believe the king is aware of it either.’

  ‘Shar’s breath! Burrage looked hale yesterday.’

  ‘Indeed, it is a shock for all of us.’

  ‘Heart?’ Tentrell wondered.

  She shrugged. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know. I was only told on my way here. May I offer you some refreshment, Master Tentrell? Or perhaps some cherries? They are the violets — the best Morgravia’s southern orchards can provide.’ She gestured at the untouched plate of fruit that had been provided for Tamas earlier. The cherries gleamed plump and ripe, shining beneath the soft sunlight, vividly violet.

  ‘I haven’t tasted cherries in centuries,’ he said, winning a smile from her at his exaggeration. ‘And the violets have such a short life. I always seem to be on a voyage in this season and this time is no different. I’ll be leaving shortly. But how lucky you are to have them so early.’

  She grinned. ‘One of the rights of being a royal is the end-of-thaw, early-blossomtide fruits. I tasted some when I broke my fast this morning. They are sweet and tender. Please, help yourself or perhaps you’ll miss out again.’

  He did sample a handful, she was glad to see. ‘My, so juicy,’ he said, eating three at once and licking the telltale liquid from his fingers. He politely blew the stones into his hand before tossing them into the bushes.

  Darcelle giggled. ‘And now your lips are blue. You know it can linger, don’t you? I had to virtually scrub mine clean this morning.’

  He tittered with effeminate affectation. It sounded false but, even so, this is what she’d expected the Tentrell she’d heard about would be, and yet it contradicted that hungry look of earlier. ‘I shall proudly wear it,’ he teased. ‘My royal violet lip balm.’ She grinned, liking his uninhibited way; around Stoneheart this was refreshing behaviour. ‘Well, your highness. As you’ve given me a special treat of prized Morgravian cherries, perhaps I might be permitted to show you this glorious jewel. I may have misled you. King Tamas is not buying this jewel.’

  ‘Oh?’ she said, mystified and deeply disappointed.

  ‘No, it is from the people of Robissun Marth as our wedding gift. We can’t think of a more beautiful person to show off this magnificent gem than our own Princess Darcelle as she becomes a queen in her own right.’

  She gave a small gasp of pleasure. He was certainly speaking to her heart. ‘But how did …?’ she began.

  He laughed, producing a velvet sack. ‘Your highness, this stone is mine. I acquired it and have had it a long time. I owe a lot to the Crown — your father was always generous to me — and this is one way of showing my gratitude, and I am also doing this on behalf of my fellow townsfolk. This is a gift that I can afford to give from us to you. I hope you’ll wear it with pride when the Cipreans first glimpse the beauty of their new queen.’

  She held her breath as he tipped the magnificent teardrop-shaped gem into his palm. Even from that distance it looked to be on fire.

  ‘The Star of Percheron was worn by the favourite wife of the zar many centuries previously. While it was once worn by the famous royal woman around her belly, I have had it fashioned to be worn on a gold chain hung around the forehead,’ he said, miming placing it around his own.

  Darcelle could only watch, fascinated.

  ‘I’ve taken the liberty of having a special golden loop provided, so should you prefer, you may wear it dangling from a circlet, your highness. Then it can be worn as part of a crown or alone, as you choose.’

  He held it up so its fire caught the sunlight and danced for her. Darcelle’s eyes grew wide with intense pleasure. She was already imagining herself naked in the king’s bed on their wedding night, wearing only this jewel. She would need nothing else.

  ‘Master Tentrell, you’ve taken my breath away.’

  He looked pleased. ‘That was my intention,’ he said. ‘The Star of Percheron deserves to be worn on the most beautiful forehead in the empire.’

  She giggled as he stepped forward, the huge, heavy jewel glittering as the light bounced off its facets and sent rainbow rays arcing against a mirror set into the courtyard wall.

  ‘May I, your highness?’ he asked, his manners gracious. He bowed.

  ‘Why not?’ she said, turning and allowing Tentrell to clasp the chain around her head.

  ‘There,’ he said and stepped back as she turned once more to face him. He gave a soft sigh of what sounded like disbelief. ‘Princess, someone should paint you just as you stand there, in this garden, more radiant and gorgeous than any woman alive, I’d wager.’

  She felt herself blush. She was used to flattery but it had been a long time since it could affect her. Darcelle felt a fresh energy beneath his praise.

  ‘See for yourself, your highness,’ he said, gesturing at the bird fountain, where the still waters would show her reflection. ‘King Tamas is going to catch his breath to see it on you. You’ll need no other adornment on your wedding night,’ he confided with a knowing wink.

  She felt the heat rush to her cheeks again, wondering if he had dropped in on her thoughts. ‘You’re very kind, Master Tentrell,’ she said, stealing a glimpse of herself. She had to admit, it looked far more glorious than she’d imagined.

  ‘On behalf of the people of Robissun Marth, may we wish you our love, our blessing on your marriage and only happiness for all your days and your new life in Cipres. Come visit us sometime and wear the Star of Percheron for us.’

  Darcelle stepped forward. ‘Master Tentrell, can you not wait to meet Tamas?’ They were close enough now to embrace. He seemed aware of this, she sensed, and she liked him for being so careful in her company. He was superbly handsome, she thought again, in spite of his blue lips. What a senseless waste if he did prefer men.

  ‘Forgive me, highness, but I am leaving on a ship tomorrow, bound for faraway lands, beyond Percheron. It’s why Master Burrage permitted me this special appointment, or I might have had to queue with all the other well-wishers. I know you will pass on to King Tamas my respectful felicitations.’

  ‘Pity.’ She was genuinely sorry that Tamas would not meet Tentrell. Besides, she would have liked his company a little longer. She was also feeling vaguely irritated; having admitted to herself that Tentrell was handsome, he suddenly reminded her of that stranger, Cassien, who was hanging around Florentyna like a constant cloud of darkness.

  ‘Well, beautiful princess,’ he said, sketching the lowest and most elegant of bows just a breath away from her, ‘perhaps you will allow me to kiss your hand in farewell. I will treasure the memory throughout my long and no doubt arduous voyage. But frankly, Princess Darcelle, should the great water serpent rise up and take my ship, I shall be able to die happy because of this moment.’

  ‘Oh, you wicked flirt, Master Tentrell,’ she joked, waving a hand at him. She wished she’d met him a long time ago, for she was sure he would have provided her with lots of interesting trinkets.

  ‘Please, you must call me Layne,’ he offered.

  ‘Well then, Layne, you must promise to come to Cipres. Spend some time at our court, as our guest, on your return,’ she urged.

  His eyes widened with pleasure. ‘I won’t even bother to come home with that invitation waiting for me, highness. I shall sail straight for Cipres, bringing with me all the treasures of the eas
t so you can view them first.’

  She gave a smiling nod to show she was impressed, then held out her hand with an even broader smile. ‘Farewell, dear Layne. I am in awe of your gift and will wear it on my wedding day with pride.’

  ‘You do the people of Robissun Marth a great honour,’ Tentrell said, reaching for her hand, bending over it and laying his lips against her skin.

  She shivered at his touch, and then he was no longer kissing the back of her hand as she felt his mouth on her palm and his tongue licking it and she’d never felt anything so lustful. Now his warm lips moved up her arm, making the hairs on the back of her neck wake up in tingling response to a new sort of awakening deep within. He was rapidly working his way up to her face and she was helpless to stop him.

  ‘Master Tentrell,’ she murmured, scared but at the same time lost in the moment of passion. She had lied to Florentyna about lying with Tamas. He was far too correct to have taken advantage of her presence or her youth and naïvety. She had just wanted to shock her conservative, stuffy sister … and had. She knew that Tamas wanted both her youth and virginity. He had been prepared to wait for it and would give her a realm for it.

  She loved Tamas, but she’d never had a lover. Now handsome Layne Tentrell, who clearly was not a half-man, was kissing her in an intimate way she had never experienced. She’d truly never felt anything so sensual. Suitors had been part of her life, but while the ardour had been there, the kisses were perfunctory as there had been chaperones at every turn. Here she was, for the first time truly alone with a man who obviously had no inhibitions about what may or not be regally prudent, and she was all but melting beneath him like a bitch on heat. His warm breath on her neck was making her gasp, the way he bit at her ear made her see sparkling lights beneath her closed eyelids and all the while she felt a throb of need … of desire.

  Tentrell pulled away. ‘Your highness,’ he began, his voice throaty and full of longing.